Another Dull Tuesday
by clothsofheaven
Summary: Draco wakes up on another dull Tuesday morning in the Muggle world to discover that his roommate isn't exactly who he seems. (Post Hogwarts/Post war) Disclaimer: Cover Image by alek.dar


**Another Dull Tuesday**

**by clothsofheaven**

**Summary:**

Draco wakes up on another dull Tuesday morning to discover that his roommate isn't exactly who he seems. (Post Hogwarts/Post war)

**Disclaimer:**

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Vittani!

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way_

_\- Pablo Naruda_

'Shit. Double shit and fuck', Draco said to himself as he caught a glimpse of what lay beyond the window.

It was dark outside. The bus was warm, but he could already feel the cold rolling towards him through the bus door as it hissed open. The crowd of impatient passengers pushed him forward, catching his backpack with the protuberances of their own baggage, pushing him towards the exit.

As he stumbled off the bus, cold, clammy air rushed into his lungs. Goosebumps immediately prickled on his arms and legs.

He became aware of a stream of honking cars, a fringe of buildings outlined against a sky dimly peppered with stars, a snake of headlights along the road. The noise and the cold were overwhelming.

Draco stared at it all. His face was expressionless but inwardly he was fighting to maintain the defiance that had buoyed him up since leaving.

Voldemort was dead. His family name was mud. He was too proud to stay and endure the hatred and disdain.

Now that he had actually left, he realised he had hardly considered his destination. He had just hopped on the first bus he saw, even though it was a form of transportation used by Muggles.

To get away and to stay away, that was all he had fixed on. But now all kinds of other problems reared up, competing with each other for his attention. He didn't know how to handle his situation, not at all. And nobody knew where he was; no one was looking out for his arrival.

There was a homeless man sleeping on a bench, using a newspaper for a blanket. Draco wondered where he would sleep tonight. He began to walk the length of the street.

He turned his attention away from the busy road, choosing to eye the displays in the shop windows instead.

His father had always told him that Muggles were useless, and that there was no point in knowing anything about them. Draco agreed, however he occasionally spent time in the library reading books about them.

His father was right, of course. They were useless. Nonetheless, Draco was glad that he had some knowledge on the subject. The wizarding word would certainly not accept him after the things his family had done for Voldemort. He had no other choice, but to live with the Muggles.

He was disgraced. He had to experience something a pure-blood should never have to do. Even Azkaban seemed less shameful.

Harry Potter had ensured that the Malfoys didn't go to Azkaban. He spoke at their trial, explaining how they had assisted him in small ways throughout the war. Draco did not reveal Potter's identity when they had been captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. Draco had also tried to stop Vincent Crabbe from killing Potter during the battle of Hogwarts. Finally, Narcissa Malfoy had lied to Voldemort. She checked Potter's pulse and told him Harry was truly dead when he wasn't.

Draco remembered Potter's face as he recalled this information to members of the Ministry. He had looked rumpled and boyish and Draco felt the repetitive pang of love for him.

He knew it was stupid to feel that way about Potter. Unrequited love was the worst. He bottled the feelings away and made himself stare into the window of an appliance store, where television sets were being displayed. Draco had read all about this Muggle invention. He recognized them from a picture in the library.

The televisions were all on the same channel; nodding heads with wide mouths filled the screens. For a minute or two he gazed into the over animated faces. The colour balance was off and the skins were greenish, the lips orange and puckered like weird specimens of marine life.

A notice board next to the shop window caught Draco's eye. It displayed many advertisements. Someone was offering guitar lessons, someone was selling a year-old laptop, and someone was looking for a roommate. Intrigued, Draco read the latter.

**Wanted:  
1 roommate to share a two bedroom flat  
Preferably male  
Must be clean and quiet  
Call Danny on 5592 6133  
Note: People who play instruments or have pets need NOT apply**

Draco considered the advert. This man sounded reasonable…for a Muggle at least. Like Draco, he seemed to hate animals, dirt and load noises. Also, Draco needed a place to stay as soon as possible. He decided to go for it.

He removed the advert from the board and found the nearest telephone booth.

'This shouldn't be too hard,' he thought. After all, it had been invented by a Muggle.

He had read about telephones. It seemed relatively easy. He recalled the instructions from a book he once read entitled '_Crazy Muggle Inventions: The way Muggles communicate_'. All you had to do was put the handle to your ear and punch in the numbers on the number pad.

Draco did just that.

He frowned when he heard beeping through the receiver.

"Stupid thing must be broken," he said to himself.

Then he noticed a small slot next to the number pad. A label above it read 'insert coins here'.

_Coins_. He knew that word. Malfoys knew all about money, even Muggle money. Draco had stopped by Gringotts and converted his Galleons into Muggle money before leaving.

'But which coins?' he thought to himself. There were so many types. Stupid Muggles.

In the end, he inserted a couple of coins at random and tried dialing the number again. This time, instead of beeping, he heard a dull ring. The ringing didn't last long.

"Hello. Dan here."

Draco was startled, but he hid it well. "HELLO. MY. NAME. IS. DRACO. MALFOY," he said slowly and clearly.

Danny laughed. "Have you got a speech impairment or something? Why are you talking so slow?"

"No," Draco replied at normal speed. The telephone must work a lot more efficiently than he originally thought. "I am responding to your advert. I hate instruments and animals also."

Danny laughed again. "Great. When would you like to come and check the place out?"

"As soon as possible. Now in fact."

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Danny stopped laughing.

"You're joking right? It's a bit late."

"I am aware of the time," Draco said coldly, resisting the urge to add 'you filthy Muggle'. "Do you want a new roommate or not?"

"Fair enough. Fair enough." Danny replied, giving in. "The address is 37 Hanley Road."

"I'll see you soon." Draco hung up the phone before Danny could respond further.

Now all he had to do was find 37 Hanley Road. Apparating wasn't an option, as the street was too crowded and he had no idea where Hanley Road was anyway.

There were quite a few hooting black-and-white taxis driving down the road. Draco stood on the edge of the sidewalk and tried to hail one. He had seen a Muggle do this when he had gotten off the bus. It seemed easy enough. A packed bus roared past him, missing him by inches.

As Draco stepped back, startled, a taxi pulled up in front of him. He threw his backpack into the boot and opened the passenger door. With relief he sank into the back seat.

The springs had collapsed and stained foam padding bulged through a split in the brown plastic seat cover. The interior of the cab smelled strongly of cigarettes and cheap air freshener.

Draco, disturbed by the poor maintenance, considered getting out of the cab and finding another option, but the driver thrust the car into gear before he could act and they roared forward.

The driver flashed Draco a smile over his shoulder. He looked young, not much older than himself.

"Where to?"

Draco told him the address.

"Why are you going there?" the driver asked, eying Draco through the rear-view mirror.

"We're going where I told you," Draco insisted. "No arguing. Got that?"

This amused the driver. He laughed and slapped his hands on the steering wheel. "Yes, sir."

There were roads everywhere, the sodium-lit elevated sections crazily perched over complex intersections, and all hemmed by tower blocks and hung about with giant advertisement hoardings. Draco lounged in the sagging seat and stared at it all.

He felt a long way from home, but he bundled up that thought and pushed it aside.

"How much?" he asked.

The driver shot the smile at him again.

"Money's no problem. Where are you from?"

"None of your business."

"My name is Stan."

"Right."

There was a pause.

"You got a girlfriend?"

Draco gave a snort of derisive laughter. "I'm not interested in girls."

"Got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

"I'll be your boyfriend."

Draco lifted his head. This, at least, was familiar territory.

He had hardly looked at Stan. He did look young, not much older than himself. He had large, protruding ears and a fair few pimples.

"In. Your. Dreams," he said clearly.

Stan's delighted laughter filled the car. He drummed his hands on the wheel as if this was the funniest joke he had ever heard. "I'm always dreaming."

"Just watch the road, all right."

Draco huddled in the corner, looking out of the window. There were a few stationary intervals during which he peered down the cities side streets. There was a thick litter of rubbish in the gutters, scrawny dogs nosing at it all. Neon lights blinked everywhere and there was the endless honking of horns.

"Busy place," he said at last, wanting to make it smaller and less threatening with a casual phrase.

Stan shrugged. "So am I taking you home or to a friend's place?"

He was either being nosy, or he was concerned for him. Neither was welcome.

"Neither," he said discouragingly.

They were winding down smaller streets now, leaving the main thoroughfares behind.

Stan stopped in front of a small building with a large wooden door and a small flight of stone steps leading up to it.

"Here it is," Stan announced. "37 Hanley Road."

Draco stared at the door. He could just see that it was painted a dark colour, old paint that had bubbled to expose wood split by the sun. He hadn't at all worked out what to expect, but it wasn't this.

He summed up his resolve.

"How much money do you want?" Draco reached into his pocket.

"Thirty pounds."

"_Thirty_? Do you think I'm stupid or something? I'll give you twenty." He separated the crumpled notes. He knew enough about Muggle money to know that that was too much for his taxi ride.

"Thirty." Stan wasn't smiling any longer.

"Get lost, right?" Draco hopped out of the car but Stan was quicker. He ran round and held down the boot so Draco couldn't retrieve his bag.

They squared up to each other, faces inches apart.

"Twenty," Draco said, resisting the urge to reach for his wand.

"Thirty."

"Give me my fucking bag." He kicked Stan's shin as hard as he could.

Stan yelped. "Sir, sir. You are not behaving nicely."

"Really? Now hand over my stuff."

"You have to pay first." But Stan was relenting. Draco's resistance earned a glimmer of his respect. Usually people just grumbled and handed over their money. "Twenty-Five," he conceded.

"Fuck's sake." But Draco sighed and took another note out of his pocket, scrunching it up and flinging it against the sleeve of Stan's jacket.

Stan's smile was restored. Twenty-five pounds was the correct price for the trip he had just driven.

Draco took his backpack and hoisted it over his shoulder, with some of its contents spilling in his arms as he marched up the stone steps without a backward glance. He heard Stan reversing the taxi the way they had come, then a squeal of tyres as he raced away.

As soon as he was gone Draco regretted the loss of even this brief relationship. Maybe he should have asked him to wait. What if there was nobody here? What if the address was wrong? What would he do next?

Lifting his head and straightening his shoulders he marched up the stone steps. He knocked on the blistered paint.

Draco tossed and turned, twisting his bedcovers in the middle of a dream-like delirium.

"_Well, Draco?" his father said, sounding avid._

"_I can't – I can't be sure."_

_Draco was sure._

_He knew it was Harry Potter the second his eyes meet with the other man's. He knew because he always felt a shock when it happened. Potter's eyes were always bright enough to dazzle him._

"_But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"_

_His father grabbed him and pulled him forward._

"_There's something there," his father whispered, almost touching his fingertips to Potter's forehead._

_Draco recoiled. He was gripped by fear. He didn't want them to take Potter away. They'd kill him. He'd be dead._

"_It could be the scar, stretched tight by a Stinging Jinx." His father's looked beside himself with excitement. "Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"_

_Draco was pushed forward again. _

_He slowly brought his hand up to Potter's forehead, lightly touching the suspicious area. He had never touched Potter's skin before, but he knew it was him. Fear tightened its cold grip on him._

"_I don't know," was all he could say._

_There was more discussion, and then an argument broke out. His aunt Bellatrix had arrived. She was screaming._

The screaming gradually got softer, as Draco began to ease in and out of consciousness.

He awoke slowly on yet another dull Tuesday, his vision blurred and head spinning from his reminiscent dream.

When he opened his eyes, white light was pouring in through his bedroom window, filling the bare room until the air seemed almost solid with floating particles of dust.

He knew what the day would bring before he even got out of bed.

Tuesday.

Every Tuesday the Muggle, Danny, rose at 7:12, and poured a glass of orange juice, exactly 250 millilitres.

Draco always watched him through glaring eyes, as Danny tinkered around in the kitchen, bending his knees and carefully watching the measuring cup fill at eye level.

Draco often wondered idly if all Muggles were this pedantic. It wouldn't surprise him if they were. They probably had nothing better to do than carefully measure out every drop of their breakfast juice. Stupid gits.

Danny never seemed bothered by Draco. This was most likely because he was quiet, kept mostly to himself and immediately placed his teabags in the bin when his tea was finished.

Danny hated the thought of teabags sitting, staining, on the kitchen counter or in the tea cup. He had told Draco this on his first night, as he showed Draco around the apartment.

Draco was slightly astonished by this at first. Danny had sounded a lot more laid back on the telephone. Perhaps that Muggle machine wasn't as reliable after all.

Every Tuesday at 8:02, Danny would 'relieve himself'. The bathroom was never available to Draco between 8:02 and 8:07.

At 8:17 Danny packed himself a lunch consisting of one green apple, one ham and tomato sandwich, 6 crackers, 6 pieces of cheese and a bottle of water.

He promptly left for work at 8:28, shiny black briefcase held firmly in his right hand.

Draco pushed back the sheet and scrambled out of bed, expecting the usual mind-numbing routine.

When Draco entered the kitchen, to his great surprise, Danny was not on time with his breakfast juice schedule. He was standing in the kitchen, looking pensively out the window.

The sun shone brightly through. Draco shielded his eyes with one hand, still sensitive from the darkness and shadows of sleep.

Danny visibly jumped and whipped around when he heard Draco's chair scrap against the floor as he sat into it.

"Morning," Draco said absentmindedly.

"Good – good morning," Danny replied. He began to move around the room, swinging cupboards open and banging them closed again.

Draco gave him no further thought. He reached for the morning newspaper, one hand still shielding his eyes. He quickly removed it when his other hand, after vigorous searching, did not come in to contact with the thin, soft pages of the _London Daily_.

That was odd. On Tuesdays, Danny usually read it at 6:53. He would then leave it on the table for Draco to peruse when he got up.

"Where's the paper?" Draco asked.

"What?" Danny stood with his hands cupped around a cold tea pot.

There was a brief, silent moment when Draco might have voiced his opinion that there was something strangely different about Danny's behaviour this particular Tuesday morning.

He saw the evidence, but pushed it to the back of his mind.

"I'll go get it."

When Draco returned, Danny had resumed rummaging around in the kitchen, the kettle making a whizzing noise in the background.

Draco sat in his chair, watching him carefully, pretending to read the paper.

When Danny finished making a batch of tea, he poured a cup for Draco, placing it on the table at a little distance.

He left his own full cup on the draining board and turned to the sink.

Draco pretended to drink the tea and watched Danny working with his back to him.

There was an edge of controlled clumsiness to his movements. He was trying to fit the kettle into the wrong cupboard. The kettle went in the cupboard under the sink, not in the cupboard above the refrigerator.

It was then that Draco noticed them.

Two teabags.

They were flopped over on the kitchen bench beside the sink, small dregs of liquid oozing out of them.

A small sound of shock escaped from his mouth, realisation dawning on him.

This was not Danny Cooper.

Danny Cooper drank 250 milliliters of orange juice at breakfast, not a full cup of tea.

Danny Cooper collected the _London Daily_ from the front porch every morning without fail.

Danny Cooper kept the kettle in the cupboard under the sink. He had even made a label and stuck it on its space of shelf.

Most importantly, Danny Cooper hated food being left on the kitchen bench. He had told Draco that teabags stained things, teabags needed to be discarded immediately. Draco remembered.

Who was this imposter? Draco wondered, as he slowly withdrew his wand from his night sock and eased himself out of his chair.

Quick and silent, like a cat, Draco crossed the kitchen.

'Danny' was still fidgeting with the kettle. Draco snuck up behind him and pressed his wand into his back.

"Who are you and what do you want."

'Danny' froze. The kettle dropped. It landed on the floor with a loud, sharp bang, narrowly missing their feet.

"I don't know what-"

"Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly," Draco ordered, giving the intruder a sharp jab with his wand to remind him he was armed. He was in control. 'Danny' obediently followed the instructions.

They now faced each other, an edge of threat between them.

"You're not Danny Cooper," Draco said calmly. "Who are you?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. I am Danny." The imposter looked Draco squarely in the eye, trying to cover his lie.

Draco felt a small wave of shock run through him. He knew he was lying. He knew it wasn't Danny. He could see it in his eyes.

"You're a wizard. That much is for certain." Draco pointed his wand mere millimetres from the imposter's face. "Don't move."

He moved his free hand to the front pocket of 'Danny's' jeans, keeping his eyes firmly locked with his.

A dark red blush began to creep over 'Danny's' face.

When Draco located the wand in the front left pocket, he thought he felt an erection forming a bulge in the other's jeans.

He ignored that thought for now.

He held both wands now, enjoying the thrill of power that came with it.

"You're definitely a wizard," Draco mused. "And you know how to make Polyjuice Potion. And you've used it to come and spy on me."

Draco pointed the wands in closer to 'Danny's' face. "Who are you and what do you want?"

The imposter's blush darkened. He did not speak.

"Fine," Draco said, stepping back, still keeping the wands pointed directly at him. "I'm going to find out anyway. The potion only lasts for one hour."

Time moved slowly forward. Both men remained still. They were strong willed, both determined.

A bird landed on the ledge of the kitchen window sill. It looked at Draco and his prisoner briefly before flying away again.

"You probably think I'm up to something," Draco spoke, breaking the long silence. "That's why you're spying on me."

"Or perhaps you've come to remind me of the horrible mistakes I made. As if I could unburden myself from it. It haunts and disturbs me every day. Every night. That should be enough. You shouldn't get to disturb me too, whoever you are."

Draco had expected something like this would happen. He thought someone would have come looking for him sooner than this. Once a suspected felon, always a suspected felon. Maybe they had come after his father too.

"_There's something there."_

Draco faintly heard his father's voice in the back of his mind.

"I didn't want Harry Potter to die, you know. Quite the opposite actually." Draco kept his voice calm, eyes locked on the other. "What choice did I have? He had his part to play and I had mine. I was unlucky enough to have the evil part. The part that caused the pain. I had a destiny to follow just like him. It wasn't a simple thing. I didn't choose it, and it was hard to do. I hated it and wished it wasn't. Every day."

Draco caught himself, precariously rocking on the tip of anger.

"Every day," he repeated.

_Every_ day.

"But it could have been the other way round. You know? Potter or Weasley or Granger could have been born into something like my family," he continued. "But it wasn't the other way round, was it? My horrible family is still alive. Weasley's brother is dead. Dumbledore is dead. Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Professor Snape and Professor Burbage. I was there when she died, you know. I fainted from the sight of it. I'm such a wuss. Not like Potter. He's brave and bold and depend-"

Draco stopped.

He had been watching his imposter's face for any signs of familiarity as he spoke.

"_There's something there."_

'Danny's' skin began to move, as the Polyjuice Potion slowly wore off. His nose changed shape, his hair grew think into an unruly raven mat, and his forhead…

"_It could be the scar."_

Draco pushed himself forward, dropping the other's wand, keeping a firm grip on his own.

He slowly brought his hand up to the other's forehead, lightly touching the suspicious area. He had touched Potter's skin before, he knew it was him.

Potter didn't flinch under his touch. He remained still, knowing that his identity had been revealed, as his face fully formed back into his own.

"Goodness, Potter. You have no tact." Draco smirked. "I could tell you were an imposter the moment I entered the room. It's a wonder you beat Voldemort at all."

Voldemort.

The name swung in as if from nowhere. A huge space suddenly gaped between them.

Draco changed his stance. "Why are you here?"

"To spy on you, like you said," Potter replied sternly. "Making sure you're not getting up to anything."

Draco laughed, mockingly. He could see through the lie. He disproved Potter immediately. "Why did you speak at my hearing then? Why didn't you just let them send me to Azkaban if I'm still such a potential threat?"

"Why did you leave? Why did you run away like you had something to hide?" was Potter's rebuttal. "Why did you try and talk Crabbe out of harming me?"

"Why did you save me from Crabbe's Fiendfyre?"

"Why didn't you reveal my identity at Malfoy Manor? You knew it was me. I saw the recognition in your eyes."

"Why are you really here?"

They were boxed in by truths that had been easier not to confront and now by unthinkable new possibilities. Potter took a breath and launched himself at them.

"Ifancyyou." He was nervous and his words ran in a river, "Ifancyyoulikemadokay."

Draco dropped his wand.

In the cramped space of the kitchen between the counter and the table they hesitated, with their breath catching, then took hold of each other.

Draco crashed their bodies together, shoving Harry's hips against the refrigerator door, as Harry's mouth hurriedly closed over his.

Draco relished in the hot slide of Harry's tongue against his, and the feel of Harry's erection pressing against his own.

"I fancy you too," Draco managed to say as they kissed frantically. The need for reassurance, his own reassurance, made him speak in a voice that was barely a gasp. "I've fancied you for – for – for – ages – _YESLIKETHAT. LIKETHAT_!"

Harry's hands had found their way to Draco's arse. He squeezed hard.

Draco gasped into Harry's mouth, grinding his erection into Harry's. Harry began to moan.

Draco's hands began fumbling at Harry's zip, as Harry's hands began to tug at Draco's shirt. Sex had flown in and unbalanced them both. They feel to the floor, disoriented and dizzy from lust.

Draco climbed on top of Harry. He resumed his fumbling and opened Harry's fly.

Harry arched his hips, allowing Draco to pull away the offending material of his jeans and boxer shorts. Harry's cock sprang forth from the restricting material at once. Draco grasped it firmly, causing Harry to moan loudly, as he pushed himself further into Draco's hands and attempted to remove Draco's pants at the same time.

There was a tangle of leftover clothing, the creak of Draco's belt and a soft thump from Harry's trainers, and then they were completely naked and enveloped in each other.

"Like that, Harry. More. Turn on your side."

"Oh, yes. Just like that, Draco. Fuck. _Draco_."

Once they had begun, they understood now, there was no ending. They were driven over and into and around each other. The morning stretched into an eternity, dwindled into a matter of minutes.

Draco stretched, suddenly becoming aware of the hardness of the kitchen tiles. The kitchen had because confining.

They transferred their greedy explorations to Draco's bed. Afterwards, they lay on their sides, Draco fitting himself into the curves of Harry's back.

Their faces were alike, swollen-mouthed and wide-eyed in astonishment.

They exhaled heavily, slower and deeper, as they voyaged to sleep.

"How did you know I wasn't your roommate?" Harry asked, closing his eyes. "How did you figure it out so fast?"

Draco smiled, softly pressing his mouth against Harry's warm skin. "It was Tuesday," he said simply, "a beautiful and perfect Tuesday."


End file.
